Page 22 of Chasing Creed

Pakula let out a low whistle. “But she was wearing the clothes when she was murdered.”

“And there aren’t any shoes? No coat or jacket?”

Both of them looked over at Jules.

“No coat. No jacket. No shoes,” he confirmed.

Pakula asked Maggie again. “What are you thinking?”

“Just my gut instinct, but she doesn’t look the part.”

“Of a trafficked victim?”

“She doesn't look like a drug addict or a trafficked victim. Maybe I’m focusing too much on typical profiles, but she looks too healthy. And I think she believed she was somewhere safe. She didn't expect him when he came to kill her.”

Pakula’s eyes scanned over the woman as his hand scraped over his shaved head. When he looked back at Maggie, he nodded. “Could be somebody wants us to think she was being trafficked. Maybe he wants us to believe she was disposable. I’m not sure, but the brand’s not quite right. I already have someone checking it out. Also, there hasn’t been anyone reported missing in the area matching her description.”

“Might be a long shot, but let’s submit her DNA and check CODIS.”

The FBI’s combined DNA Index System included DNA profiles of missing people along with family members in the hopes of identifying a missing loved one who showed up with no ID.

“Can we do that, Jules?” Pakula asked. “Like today?”

“I’ll need one of you to sign off. Give me five minutes.” And he disappeared out of the autopsy suite door.

Maggie watched Pakula, his eyes taking in everything one last time as if he were looking for something in particular.

“A single deep stab wound,” he said. “The clothes off but included inside the bag. There’s something familiar about all this. And that doesn’t even include the branding.”

“You think you’ve seen this MO before?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ve just seen too many frickin’ murders. I’ll have someone in my office run the details through the databases.” He glanced back at Maggie. “Seems sloppy. Leaving the clothes. Not weighing down the body in the river. And yet, I don’t know. It feels…”

“Like a professional,” she finished his sentence just as she noticed the mark on the woman’s arm. It was close to the back. That’s why she didn’t see it. “This might explain why there are no defensive wounds.”

Maggie lifted the shoulder and pointed with a gloved finger to the circular bruise.

Pakula pulled out reading glasses and bent over for a closer look.

“Son-of-a-bitch. I’ll have Jules put a rush on the toxicology. It sure looks like he injected her first. Maybe something to knock her out?”

“Or something to paralyze her.”

14

Mississippi

Brodie thought the pile of rubble looked old and long ago discarded. Until she got a closer look.

Tall grass and vines defined the layers growing at different lengths and weaving their way through the debris. Some of the foliage had been squashed by recent additions of concrete pieces. Around the pile’s edge, crumbles of drywall and chunks of other trash had recently toppled and fallen, bending grass in places to a different height. Something had been thrown on the mix to cause the partial avalanche. A large, upside-down cooler at the top looked to be the obvious culprit.

The olive-green hardshell blended in with the kudzu that was growing beneath it.

Not around it or over it. Beneath it.

A putrid tang rode the heavy, wet scent coming off the pile. Something that didn’t belong. Possibly an animal had crawled underneath to die. The humidity kept the smell right here. A few steps around and the rancid smell grew stronger.

Hank noticed, too. Ears pinned to the sides of his head. His eyes watched her intensely. He was trying to see if she smelled it. She patted the top of his head and gestured for the two of them to back off.